


if it takes all night (that'll be alright)

by yeswayappianway



Category: DCU, Grayson (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: (but mostly just the comfort), Dick Grayson is Agent 37, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grayson Annual #2, M/M, Platonic Sex, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:44:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23846908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeswayappianway/pseuds/yeswayappianway
Summary: A small sound jolts Dick out of his thoughts. Clark has let out a bark of laughter, too sharp and harsh to sound natural to him. “You’re constantly playing a role, and all my roles have been taken from me,” he says, and Dick hates seeing that kind of bitterness on Clark’s face.Dick may not be an actor, but he does prefer to put smiles on people’s faces when he can. “Seemed like you were having fun earlier,” he says lightly. “Do I need to find you another bad guy to take down, will that cheer you up?”Clark rolls his eyes. “No, thanks, I think I’ve had my fill of fighting for the day.”"Seriously, what can I do to help, Clark?” Dick presses.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Clark Kent
Comments: 9
Kudos: 71





	if it takes all night (that'll be alright)

**Author's Note:**

> set during that very specific time in New52 while Dick was in Spyral, Clark’s secret identity was revealed to the world, and Bruce had amnesia (Grayson Annual #2). listen, i didn't like it, but i did like this setup and dynamic
> 
> title from Running On Empty by Jackson Browne
> 
> big thanks to remi for reading this and reassuring me it was good and all of the eyes emojis

“You know,” Clark says thoughtfully. “I spent some time in an underground fighting ring.”

Dick sputters, “You did _what_?”

Clark is smiling, that smile that on anyone else might be a smirk, but on Clark is just sparkling amusement. “I was investigating the organization that got me into this whole mess. I followed up on a lead in Oakland, and I ran into this place called Mythbrawl. I thought at first it was just a bunch of metahumans beating each other up for money. I wasn’t very impressed,” he admits.

“You wouldn’t be,” Dick laughs. Clark acknowledges that with a nod, and keeps talking. He’s always been a good storyteller, when he steps out from behind the persona of Clark Kent, bumbling small-town reporter.

“As it turns out, they weren’t just metahumans—they were gods. Old, nearly-forgotten gods, doing whatever they could to keep their stories alive in the minds of anyone who would listen.”

“And the only people listening were a bunch of people paying to watch underground fight clubs?” It’s objectively ridiculous, but two things make Dick believe it. One, anyone repeating this story definitely knows how it sounds, and no one would make up something like this and think it was remotely approaching plausible. Two, it’s Clark.

Clark shrugs. “Apparently.” There’s something a little wistful about the way he’s looking out into the distance. “It wasn’t bad. They were good people. The stories were beautiful, too. I wish I could have recorded them, but I…” He trails off. “I wasn’t thinking that way at the time.”

Dick studies him. Obviously, there’s a lot different about Clark right now—the haircut, the bruises, the tough guy outfit. Underneath, though, Dick thinks he sees the same man he’s always seen, even if Clark doesn’t seem to realize it. “What were you thinking about, then?” he asks.

“You, actually,” Clark looks over at him. His eyes are the same—Clark has always had a way of seeming like he’s looking straight into people. Dick thinks it’s one of the reasons that glasses are the main part of his disguise. The effect is lessened then. “I didn’t mind being part of the Mythbrawl, especially once I’d gotten a little more used to it. It was… fun,” he admits. “Being out in front of people, seeing them react, hearing the way they listened to the monologues I gave. Knowing everyone was watching me, not because they were afraid or because they were counting on me, but because I was fun to watch.” Clark’s still looking right at Dick. It’s a lot to handle. “It made me realize what I imagine you feel when you perform.”

Dick smiles, but he knows it doesn’t look right. “Doing a different kind of performing lately,” he says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It doesn’t work.

It’s not like Dick’s not got plenty of experience with working in the shadows, is the thing. He knows what everyone thinks about him—that he’s the showy one, nevermind that Bruce has built an entire life around the theatricality of Batman. The point is, Dick is happy to go unnoticed and to sneak through the night when it suits him, when a mission calls for it, and he doesn’t mind not getting credit for the work he does. It’s never been the lack of applause that makes him hate working for Spyral. It’s that… Dick isn’t an actor. He’s a performer, sure, but he performs as himself. Spyral, Agent 37, the man Bruce had sent him undercover to be—that’s not him. If Dick is being honest, this is the most he’s felt like himself in months. Having Clark here, it feels like Dick can breathe again.

A small sound jolts Dick out of his thoughts. Clark has let out a bark of laughter, too sharp and harsh to sound natural to him. “You’re constantly playing a role, and all my roles have been taken from me,” he says, and Dick hates seeing that kind of bitterness on Clark’s face, on _Superman’s_ face.

Dick may not be an actor, but he does prefer to put smiles on people’s faces when he can. “Seemed like you were having fun earlier,” he says lightly. “Do I need to find you another bad guy to take down, will that cheer you up?”

Clark rolls his eyes. “No, thanks, I think I’ve had my fill of fighting for the day.” He sounds genuine, but Dick notices the tension in his hands, the slight jitter of his foot where it hangs over the edge of the broken-down car they’re perched on.

“Seriously, what can I do to help, Clark?” Dick presses. 

Staring into the sunrise, Clark says, “You know… I was proud when you took the name Nightwing. And now, a little part of me is sad you gave it up.” It doesn’t sound like he’s answering the question, but Dick wonders.

“So, are you Flamebird then?” Dick asks. Clark gives a little shrug. “Seems like there’s been a lot of destruction in your life lately. Can I help you rebuild yourself and start again?”

Clark actually looks at him now. He looks lost for maybe the first time Dick has ever seen. “Can you?” he asks. There’s such naked hope in his voice that Dick is almost stunned into silence.

“Come on, Clark,” Dick smiles. “You’re the one who said that you believed in me, even when I said I’d changed. That it was still me underneath, no matter what I’ve been surrounding myself with or doing lately. Why would that be any different for you?”

“But what if I can’t just go back to what I was,” Clark suggests. It’s not a question. He seems to be offering it as a tentative fact.

Dick shrugs, and sits down next to Clark, close enough that their shoulders almost brush. “Just because you can’t go back to your same old life doesn’t mean you aren’t the same person. You’re still Superman, even if that looks a little different now.”

There’s a moment in which neither of them speak, and Dick can’t tell if it’s a moment of moving on or of something hanging in the air.

“You’re a good man, Dick,” Clark says finally.

Dick raises an eyebrow. “You know, I usually expect that to sound like a compliment.”

“It is,” Clark sighs. “I just… I don’t know. That’s just it, I _don’t_ know—what I’m supposed to be doing or who I am when I’m not really Clark Kent and not really Superman. I feel like everyone expects things of me, but they’re not what I’m used to people expecting.”

Dick thinks about what Clark said earlier, about only thinking of a plan after he leaps. “Well, in that case, maybe we should do something unexpected.” And before he can talk himself out of it, Dick leans in and kisses Clark.

Clark’s lips are surprisingly rough, and Dick doesn’t know if that’s just how Clark is, or if it has to do with the lack of his powers. Clark seems frozen, so Dick pulls back. He’s not willing to give up on this idea just yet.

“Dick, I—” Clark’s eyes are open in alarm.

“What?” Dick settles back, far enough away that he’s no longer touching Clark.

“I— This seems— I don’t think—” Clark breaks off. He opens his mouth a few more times, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to get anywhere anytime soon.

“Look, if you didn’t like that, no worries, we can both move on. But listen, I think you’re very attractive, and you’re my friend, and I think it might be good for you to get out of your head a little,” Dick explains, laying his points out as clearly as he can.

Clark looks a bit shaken. “Do you sleep with all your friends?” he asks, and he seems a little desperate.

Dick wiggles his eyebrows. “Now, Mr. Kent, who said anything about sleeping with?” he teases, just to see Clark blush. “Honestly? Yeah, I have slept with a lot of my friends. I like sex, and I like my friends, so I don’t see any reason not to combine those things.” Dick’s never been good at articulating this, largely because he doesn’t understand how it seems to confuse so many people. It’s always seemed simple to him. Clark still looks a little lost, although he nods along as Dick talks. Dick can’t tell if it’s habit or if he’s actually agreeing. “Clark, I just think…” Dick swallows as he realizes what he’s about to say. “I think I want something that feels real right now, because my new life sure as hell doesn’t. And I think that might be good for you, too, but if you don’t want this for any reason, please tell me and I’ll back off.”

The sun is painting Clark’s face gold. It should make him seem stunning and out of reach, but instead it softens his features, his harsh haircut, and as he laughs a little, Dick thinks he’s never been more approachable. “Maybe you’re right,” he says, and he sounds a little like he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. “Maybe something different is exactly what I need now.”

Frowning, Dick says, “That’s not what I said. Don’t agree to this just because you feel like you should, Clark. That’s a terrible idea. I said it might be good to have something that feels real.”

“What do _you_ expect from me?” Clark asks. Dick remembers him saying that he doesn’t know what he’s expected to do, and he also hears the reporter behind Clark’s words, Clark trying to find the truth.

“I just expect you to be you,” Dick says. He doesn’t know what else to say. It’s not about Superman, it’s about Clark, and nothing about today has changed what he thinks of Clark.

A smile is lurking around the corners of Clark’s mouth. “And this isn’t going to make things weird?”

Dick gives him his best unimpressed look. “I hate to break it to you, buddy, but with our lives? When is it not weird?”

Clark finally laughs, and something in Dick’s chest loosens. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

\-----

It’s a pain, but Dick takes the Spyral implant back out before they reach the safehouse he’s leading Clark toward. Spyral may be in charge of his life, but they don’t get Batman’s secrets _or_ Dick’s friendship with Clark.

Dick does have a moment of worry when he disarms the window security that someone else will already be here, but the safehouse is empty. He’s pretty sure he and Bruce were the only ones that knew about this particular safehouse and with Bruce—well. No one else should know about it, but it wouldn’t hurt to double check.

He looks back just in time to see Clark awkwardly fitting his large frame through the window. It’s very obvious that Clark doesn’t do this very much, and Dick is charmed.

“Clark,” he starts, because Dick may leap before he looks, but he’s not callous enough to risk ruining his friendship with one of the best people he knows on a whim. “You know we don’t have to do anything, right? If you want, we can get takeout and watch TV and reminisce about what our lives were like before our secret identities were exposed to the world.”

Clark straightens up, and closes the window gently. “No, if you—if you were serious, I… I think I would like that.” He’s determined, but Dick can tell he’s also nervous as hell.

“Have you…” Dick guesses that maybe he should stop being delicate. “Have you ever had sex with a guy before?”

“No,” Clark says, matter of fact. “Thought about it, but I’ve never really done casual sex before.”

That isn’t what Dick had expected, but it fits with what he knows about Clark anyway, so he just nods. “And you do want to have sex, right? Because we could also just make out.” Clark gives him a look. “I’m just saying, there are options! I don’t want you to feel like you need to agree to anything just because I suggested it.”

“Dick,” Clark huffs. “You’re very attractive, and I just said that I’m attracted to men, and I asked you to take me back to your room.”

“Oh. Well. When you put it like that,” Dick says, a little sheepishly.

Clark looks away. “Also… you don’t want the thrill of bragging about Superman. Not too many people want to talk to me for me right now.” His shoulders slope down, his whole posture betraying how much this is clearly affecting him.

Dick hates seeing it. Luckily, he has free rein to distract Clark however he sees fit. “Yeah, no interest in Superman. Just my friend Clark, one of the best people I know.” Dick reaches out and grabs Clark’s hand, leading him back to the bedroom. Clark seems happy to follow him, even as he blushes and looks away. “And one of the most attractive people I know. Although, I’m a little sad your hair is so short, I would have loved to get my hands in it.”

Swallowing, Clark manages to meet his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint,” he says, his voice low in a way that Dick’s never heard from him before. It sounds good in a way that gets a shudder running down Dick’s spine.

“No disappointment at all,” Dick shakes his head and sits down on the edge of the bed, letting go of Clark’s hand to start untying his shoes. “It just means I have to find other things to do,” he says and lets himself really look at Clark.

It’s not even that Dick’s made a concerted effort not to check out Clark before, but more that even Dick, who’s lived over half of his life as a superhero now, can’t quite bring himself to think that way about _Superman_. It’s always felt impossible, and Dick isn’t happy that Clark is obviously so miserable with how his life has turned on its head, but he’s a little grateful that they’re both stuck in this strange in-between state together.

Clark blushes harder as Dick looks him up and down, appreciating how the t-shirt leaves his arms out to be admired, and how tight Clark’s jeans are as he shifts awkwardly. The blush is at odds with the harshness his haircut gives Clark’s normally mild face, and Dick mostly just feels incredibly fond.

“Take your boots off, stay a while,” Dick teases. He’s gotten his shoes, socks, and all of his equipment off, but Clark is still fully dressed. Clark shakes his head, smiling a little, and starts pulling his boots off. After leaving them neatly by the door to the bedroom, Clark gives him a little glance through his lashes, and then pulls his shirt off. Dick whistles. It’s appreciative, but it’s also because Dick thinks that maybe Clark needs this to stay light, and he’s happy to provide that.

Clark takes a moment to take a deep breath, and then raises an eyebrow at Dick. “Don’t I get to see you too? Or is this just a one way show?” It’s obvious that he feels self-conscious saying it, but his eyes also catch on Dick’s spread legs, where he’s sitting across the corner of the bed.

Dick laughs delightedly. “No, you definitely get a show if you want one.” It’s easy to show off for Clark, and Dick takes his time stripping out of his shirt and then his pants, standing easily in just his boxers. He shimmies a little, which makes Clark laugh again. It’s a good sound, one that makes Dick feel a little like he could do anything if he can keep making Clark laugh, especially after he’d looked so grim earlier. Maybe they both need the laughs. “So,” Dick starts. “Do you have anything in particular you want to do, or should I set the agenda?”

“Don’t tell me this is the one place you actually plan ahead,” Clark quips, stepping efficiently out of his pants, and walking over to the bed. Dick takes a moment to appreciate just how big and solid Clark is, a pillar of lightly tanned and freckled skin over muscles that Dick has felt several times today. Even without his full superstrength, Clark is probably capable of lifting two or three times Dick’s body weight, and he looks it. Somehow, even though the Superman suit is fairly skintight, it’s so much more obvious when Clark’s mostly naked.

Shaking his head a little, Dick realizes he needs to answer Clark. “It’s not about a plan, it’s about communicating with your partner,” he says, a little more seriously than he had been. Especially if this is Clark’s first time with a guy, Dick wants to make sure he doesn’t go too fast. It doesn't look like Clark’s likely to offer any particular opinions, though, so Dick just says, “C’mere,” and lies back on the bed. Clark lies down next to him, careful not to jostle the bed too much, and Dick rolls his eyes. “We’re _supposed_ to mess things up a little,” Dick says playfully. “That’s the fun part,” and then he puts a hand around the back of Clark’s neck and pulls him in to kiss him again.

Clark feels a bit warmer than most humans, which is interesting. His lips are still chapped, and he’s gentle but not hesitant to kiss back. They have all day, so Dick lets himself get lost in making out. He curls a little closer to Clark, putting a hand on Clark’s chest and dragging it up and down, feeling Clark move under it. For his part, Clark rests a hand on Dick’s shoulder, gripping it lightly, and his other hand comes up to tip Dick’s chin up a little, putting them in slightly better alignment. It feels good, Clark getting more actively involved in the proceedings.

They spend a long time like that, trading kisses back and forth, feeling each other’s bodies, Clark getting bolder and Dick getting more familiar. Clark shivers wonderfully when Dick flicks a finger over one of his nipples. Clark returns the favor when he works his fingers into Dick’s hair and tugs a little, making Dick moan. Clark blushes some more at that, but he also does it again.

Finally, Dick pulls back a little. “Can I give you a blowjob?” he asks. It doesn’t seem worth it to beat around the bush, and Dick _wants_. He wants to get Clark to lie back and just let Dick make him feel good.

“Hell,” Clark mutters, and then, “Yes, I— Yes. Please,” he adds, and it’s so clearly a courtesy rather than a plea that Dick laughs, which makes Clark huff. Rather than try to defend himself, Dick just slips down the bed, and pushes at Clark’s hip to get him to lie flat on his back.

Dick knows the joke, okay, he gets why it’s funny, in a juvenile kind of way, that he likes sucking dick. Dick also doesn’t mind laughing at himself, so he’s never let it change his behavior, and he really does like sucking dick. He’s also good at it, which is probably part of what he likes about it. Dick knows himself well enough to know that he likes doing things he’s good at, especially when doing them well gets other people to tell him he’s good. And almost immediately after Dick pulls Clark’s underwear down and gets his mouth on Clark’s cock, Clark lets out a noise that tells Dick exactly how good he is.

“Dick,” Clark says helplessly, and Dick smiles around his cock. Clark is extremely still, but Dick can feel his muscles shifting and knows how much Clark is having to control himself. It’s easy to work up a rhythm like this, Clark muttering broken-off phrases, and Dick stops paying attention to anything else. He pulls off, using his hand when his mouth isn’t actively on Clark, goes back to letting Clark’s cock fill his mouth, working up and down, and when Clark gasps out, “Dick, I’m—” Dick pulls back again, and leans up to kiss Clark. He works his hand on Clark’s cock as he comes, and Clark’s groan into his mouth is long and soft and wonderful.

“Good?” Dick says when Clark opens his eyes again. Clark looks at him, unimpressed, and pulls him in to kiss him, deep and rougher than he has yet. It makes Dick’s breath speed up, and while it’s probably his imagination, Dick thinks he can feel his own pulse racing throughout his body.

“Yes,” Clark says, after they break apart again, and Dick almost thinks he sounds a bit smug. It’s a delight, finding all the ways Clark is exactly the same he’s always been right next to the things Dick never knew about him. “What do you want?” Clark asks.

What does he want? This is Dick’s chance, probably his one opportunity to ask Clark for something like this, but he finds that he doesn’t want anything particularly unusual. He’s not here for Superman, or even to blow Clark’s mind. Dick is here because it feels so amazingly good to feel this kind of simple connection to someone who actually knows him, something that it seems they’ve both been lacking lately.

Instead of answering out loud, Dick reaches for one of Clark’s hands and guides it down to his own cock. Clark picks up on what he wants almost immediately, readjusting his grip, and stroking it—a little tentative at first, and then firmer, which makes Dick squirm, a pleasant warmth building inside him. “Yeah, that’s it,” Clark says, very quiet and right beside Dick’s ear. Dick reaches up to grab at Clark’s arm, digging his fingers in. He lets his head fall back on to the bed, focuses on the points of contact. Their legs brush together just above Dick’s right knee. Clark’s hand on his cock, strong but not rough. His arm under Dick’s hand. The way Clark’s other hand is trapped under Dick’s side, and how Clark could so easily move it, but he leaves it there, a solid counterpoint as Dick rocks a little against him. It’s so simple, and so good, and exactly what Dick likes. It doesn’t take long after that, and Dick comes on a nearly silent gasp.

They lay there for a long time, Dick listening to the counterpoint of their breaths. He wonders if Clark is listening to his heartbeat. Dick doesn’t want to open his eyes, because then he’ll have to think about what comes after this. Instead, he just curls towards Clark and keeps listening to their breathing.

“Still with me?” Clark asks quietly. Dick nods. “Just checking,” he says. “Thank you, Dick.”

Dick opens his eyes at that, because that serious note in Clark’s voice deserves his full attention. “Of course, Clark,” Dick says, and maybe it’s not quite the right answer, but it’s the easiest way to express the truth. Dick would do most things if Clark asked, and it’s not hero worship, it’s not devotion, it’s just love and respect and the knowledge that Clark would drop everything for him if he really needed it. “I hope it helped. It helped me,” he admits. He’d started this hoping to fix things for Clark, but Dick can’t ignore that he had needed something, too.

“It did,” Clark agrees. “I almost wish we didn’t have to go back out there,” he says, looking over Dick’s head at the window.

“Yeah,” Dick says. “But we do.”

“We do,” Clark echoes.

Dick smiles a little. “I guess that’s our proof, isn’t it?” When Clark looks back at him, Dick explains, “We both thought we weren’t ourselves anymore, that we weren’t the heroes we used to be. But… we’re both going to go back out and keep trying to save people, aren’t we?”

Clark looks inscrutable, his usually open face carefully blank. “I guess we are,” he says, and a rueful smile creeps onto his face. It turns it from something distant and alien to a very human and familiar sight. He leans in to kiss Dick again, which is unexpected, but nice.

They roll away from each other at the same time, in sync in that same unspoken movement that had carried them through fighting earlier. Dick sits up first, and looks around. “Then again,” he starts slowly. “We could still stay here a bit longer. Take a nap, make sure I’m well rested before I have to go fight jet lag. My next mission’s in Qatar.”

Clark looks amused, but he relaxes into the bed. “I suppose if you say it’s okay.”

“I do,” Dick decides. “I need a damn nap.”

“Well,” Clark smiles. “That settles it.”

Dick gets up and turns the light off. There’s still light coming in through the door to the rest of the safehouse, and some light peeking in under the blinds on the window, but it’s shadowed the room enough that Dick feels comfortable laying back down on the bed. He rests his head on his arms, and looks at Clark.

“I’m glad we ran into each other,” Dick murmurs.

Clark stretches and hums a little. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out in the notes and talk to me about dick and clark, bros being bros (having sex with your bro to feel meaningful connection), or anything else!


End file.
